


buzzed.

by life_unsolved



Series: the embraced. [1]
Category: L.A. By Night, LA by Night, Vampire: The Masquerade, Vampire: The Masquerade- L.A. By Night (Web Series)
Genre: F/M, It should only hurt a little, It's really more of a character exploration, My First Fanfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-29
Updated: 2019-03-29
Packaged: 2019-12-26 08:47:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18279755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/life_unsolved/pseuds/life_unsolved
Summary: A good leader can control the masses. A good leader keeps faith alive. A good leader... probably shouldn’t be as sloshed as he is currently.Victor Temple is very drunk.





	buzzed.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first ever work. Please feel free to leave advice in the comments, I am not a writer and I would love some help. This is unbeta'd, so all of the mistakes are my own. I just wanted to look underneath that "everything's fine, this will all work out" veneer that Victor has going on. Enjoy.
> 
> GUESS WHAT GOT REVISED (This shit was and still is real bad guys)
> 
> Update: Who snitched to B. Dave?

Most people would describe Victor Temple as a good guy to be around. He’s proud to be known for his positive thinking in the face of the continuous trash fire that has become his unlife. Keeping the people around him calm and reassured is one of his most important duties as an employer and as the undisputed Baron. A good leader can control the masses. A good leader keeps faith alive. A good leader... probably shouldn’t be as sloshed as he currently is.

Victor Temple is _very_ drunk.

It’s an unusual state for the usually well put-together Ventrue, but there have been plenty of unusual things happening lately. Shitty, terrible, scary things that can’t be controlled. Like his son and Blaine. The Camarilla encroaching. The Inquisition. Nelli.

His Nelli, unmoving in a hole in the ground and ghosts at her back. A beam of wood through her chest and her lovely eyes completely empty...

Victor Temple is drunker than he has ever been in his entire unlife. He lost his taste for liquor when he lost his life and he hasn’t been this drunk in well over two decades. He feels it more than he ever did before. Even at the top of his basketball career with the near constant parties, and booze, and girls, he doesn’t remember ever being quite this wasted. He wonders momentarily if the blood makes it more potent. He tries to make a point to remember to ask Nelli.

He didn’t mean to get this drunk. He just wanted to unwind for one night. It wasn’t much to ask for, one night in a series of what had been a hard couple of weeks. He had hesitated at first, thinking of the club, the coterie, the Camarilla. He had more reasons to stay sober now than ever before. Standing in the middle of his empty club, he had weighed his options. The decision had been made for him.

His phone had rung, Campbell calling to tell him about a few tipsy fans trying to get a closer look at the Temple headquarters. It had been too easy to invite them in, offer them a tour. He had moved them through the studio and into his office with a disarming charm. Then he had the bottles brought in. Willing would’ve been an understatement. They had been eager to throw themselves at him, hoping that this would be their big break. He got them into separate recording booths, half-pretending to listen as they tried to catch his ear. He drank from two and drained the third into an old flask he had lying around. It was a matte black thing, a gift from his boys. He ran his thumb over the engraving at the bottom as he watched the girl bleed into it. _Love you, Dad. Hope we can share this one day. Isaiah & Marc._ He shouldn’t keep it lying around. He doesn’t care at this point.

This drunk, he doesn’t care about much. He feels good, for the first time in what feels like a long time. He has to admit she’s clever, though there was never really any doubt. He can see why this might appeal to people who have things to forget.

He’s sitting in a shitty run-down bar on the edges of the Valley—or at least, it’s not _not_ the Valley—and he’s the only person there. The latest not-Ib dropped him off and was told to take a few laps. The kid had been eager to please in an annoying kind of way, and he was tempted to send him away entirely, but these were dangerous nights. No need to leave himself vulnerable.

He had walked in with his wallet out. The place hadn’t been terribly full to begin with. There was a man at the counter and a couple arguing in a booth. The woman was young, with short, dark hair that curled around her ears. She seemed to be issuing a rather insincere apology to a frustrated looking older man with cropped, salt and pepper hair. The irate man picked at his nails as she spoke, and he felt a pang of sympathy. He'd given them his most mesmerizing smile, letting his fangs poke out. “I think it’s time for you two to take this home, don’t you think?”

He'd pulled out a few twenties and tossed them on the table. “This should cover the bill,” he said easily. He headed for the counter as the couple gathered their things. He placed a hand on the man’s shoulder. He was probably as old as Victor actually was, and the weathered looking man had scowled at him. Victor simply raised an eyebrow at him before pulling out two hundreds and nodding towards the door. The disbelief had been enough to make him crack a smile, and before Victor could get a word out, the man had taken his money and rushed towards the exit before he could change his mind.

He had turned his focus to the bartender on duty. “You’re closed now,” he’d said coldly, letting Dominate sink into his voice. “I’ll be covering your revenue for the rest of the night.” It would be expensive, but it was worth it. He wouldn’t have to think about his club, his staff, his kids, his life. Unlife. He could just sit and drink quietly on a stool at the counter.

Sitting here quietly, he thinks that bar stools are highly overrated. He makes a mental note to get rid of his. Or, at least, to sit on them and make sure they’re nothing like these. The stools here are uncomfortable, made of tarnished metal and badly scratched green pleather, and beat to shit. _Nelli would hate this place,_ and the thought makes him glad he came. He takes another swig and runs his eyes over the rest of it. 

Everything in here is at least twenty years old and looks like it hasn’t been cleaned in just as long. There are booths lining each wall, the seats are made of the same green material, although they look far worse for wear. There are dark patches of duct tape holding some of them together and places where the leather has been pulled back entirely. The tables have been carved into almost artfully. There are decades worth of scratches and nicks. From his place at the bar, he can make out the careful shapes of names cut into the wood. The dozen or so tables on the floor are also scratched and stained. It looks lived in, to put it politely. There’s a newer looking karaoke machine near a rickety-looking wooden stage, with heavy red curtains tied on either side. Old, framed war recruitment posters hang on shitty wood-panel lined walls. Calls to battles long won and calls for peace that have been long forgotten. Interspersed there are old records and Woodstock posters hanging. Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin, and the Grateful Dead all watch him judgingly from the walls.

He takes a long sip and breathes.

“Rough night?” The bartender asks.

Victor chuckles mirthlessly, “Rough few weeks, actually.”

The bartender nods casually, leaning up against the counter. He’s got a rag slung over his shoulder, and he’s cleaning a whiskey glass carefully. 

“You wanna talk about it?”

Victor pauses, metal to his lips. There are rules and a Masquerade to maintain. The last thing he needs is another target on his back. But when he closes his eyes, he can hear her screaming...

He takes another pull from the flask and wipes the red away from his mouth. The boy falters for a moment.

“Yes, actually.”

The bartender, his name tag calls him Jace, collects himself admirably. He sets the glass down and leans back, pushing his mousy brown bangs from in front of his eyes. Patchwork stubble decorates his chin. He seems young, probably only a few years older than his own sons. His children.

“What’s on your mind, friend?” His voice is steady despite the wariness in his eyes, and Victor briefly wonders if he'd make a good security guard.

A thousand thoughts race through his head, but the same few faces keep showing up. His people are in danger. His family. Families. There’s just _so much_. For a second he thinks the thoughts are going to overwhelm him. He briefly wonders if vampires can have panic attacks. He takes a few, deliberate deep breaths and tries to clear his head. Eventually, everything narrows and it’s just her. Lifeless. Staring past him. He’s never seen her look so dead. Not in all of the years, not in any of the days or nights they’ve spent together has he ever seen her so clearly. It frightens him. She has so much attitude, he never noticed how tiny she actually was. Weightless in his arms.

After a long moment he breaks the silence.

“A few weeks ago, my partner and I adopted a kid. Not like a kid, kid, but like a 20 year old.” The words come out bumbling and careful. He’s drunk, he’s not stupid. There are still rules to this.

The bartender frowns at a spot on the counter and moves closer to where he sits. He pulls the rag off of his shoulder and begins to clean. 

“You don’t like the kid?” He asks carefully, not meeting his gaze.

Victor sighs. “I would die for her. She’s a good kid. She’s strong, smart, a little mouthy for my taste, personally. But, she’s good. She challenges me, keeps me on my toes. She helps me be better, or at least want to be better. I forget what it’s like to be-,” _Human,_ his mind whispers. “-young.” He says.

The boy furrows his brow, still not making eye contact. “So, what’s the issue? She’s a good kid, you obviously care about her. You drink like a guy with a problem.”

Victor’s phone buzzes in his pocket and he doesn’t need to check it to know who’s come calling. They were supposed to go over housekeeping bullshit. Floor layouts for the new club and a meeting with an interior designer. They're planning to open in a few weeks, or they were before everything. He can’t find it in him to care anymore, although his blood objects. It didn't matter. It’s not like they were going to live long enough to see it anyway.

The buzzing continues. He doesn’t need to check it. He wants to ignore it, but these days the end of the world could be calling. He checks it anyway. “Maharani” lights up the screen and there she is smirking at him. He had gotten her unaware at first, but when she caught him taking her picture she insisted that he, “get her good side.” There was no use telling her that all her sides were good. He silences it and tucks it back in his pocket.

“The problem is, ever since this kid’s come around everything’s turned to shit. The people around me are getting hurt. We’re all in danger, every day. And it’s not her fault, Annabelle would never hurt any of us, but things are harder now. Because of her.” 

He knows it’s a lie as it leaves his lips and he hangs his head in his hands to ignore the guilt tugging at him. Annabelle hadn’t asked for this. None of them had, but before her… God before her, he had been living. Not the surviving they were all doing now, he had been _thriving_ just two months ago.

“You can’t get rid of her? I didn’t even know you could adopt someone at 20,” Jace says in a tone that would tell Victor how strange he sounds if he was sober enough to catch it.

“I don’t want to get rid of her. She’s ours. Plus, my partner would kill me. She’s never really been the motherly type, but there’s something about Annabelle that just... calls to her, I think. It’s like something inside her is awake now. It makes Nelli do stupid shit, to protect her. Besides, she doesn’t have any other family. We’re all she has. She needs us.” 

His phone vibrates again. His next words leave him painfully.

“We need her, too.”

Jace hums quietly under his breath. He seems to think for a moment and then Victor starts again.

“I just can’t keep doing this. One of us is gonna die if we keep this up, and I almost lost her.” His voice breaks, and he covers his mouth with one hand to try to keep the despair inside. It doesn't work.

His throat closes up and for one horrid moment, he thinks he might cry. He takes a deep breath and blinks back the vitae in his eyes.

“Your kid?” Jace clarifies.

Victor shakes his head.

“Oh. Your wife?”

Victor freezes for a moment.

_“That would be lovely. Why don’t you ask my husband, who is in the car next to me.” She’s smirking expectantly back at him, one eyebrow arched. They were a team and she was asking him to play a part. It’s familiar to him. Just a few weeks ago, he had been Mr. Nelli Griffith in the health center as they unknowingly looked for the person that would complete them. He smirked back at her, and laughed. “She’s a strong woman, she can speak for herself!” And he had brushed her off for the hell of it, as a joke. Not knowing, none of them knowing._

“Yeah. My wife.”

It was a fantasy that had been playing in his head more and more lately. Nelli, in a white dress she designed herself, smiling at him from Abrams' arm because he knew how much Isaac meant to her. Marc and Isaiah as his best men, as they always had been. Annabelle and Isa giggling together in twin gowns as her Maids of Honor. Jasper watching from the front row because even though he was family, he hated attention. He could see fairy lights, and an arch of white flowers, and committing himself to her in a way that was long forgotten to creatures like them.

“She was trying to keep us safe, and she got hurt. Coma for three days,”

Victor holds three fingers up and starts raising his voice without thinking, “And I didn’t even know where the fuck she was! One of her fucking lackeys had to come tell me!” 

He’s yelling before he can help himself. “ _Me!_ We’ve been together for years, and there’s been shit, but it’s never been like this.”

The choked-up feeling starts to wrap itself back around his throat. “It’s never been so hopeless all the time.”

He feels out of breath and it takes him a moment to recognize how quiet it is in the bar. His cell phone buzzes again. He pauses a moment. When he looks, he has 20 missed messages from the group chat alone. He has another one from Jasper, three from Annabelle, and ten from Nelli. It starts ringing properly and he takes her in for a moment. He ignores the call and presses on. 

“I can hear her scream whenever I close my eyes and I just want to go back. Before Annabelle, before the Valley, before any of this shit.”

He drops his head on the counter and counts to twenty silently. At five, a bloody tear mars the counter top. At thirteen, a hand pats him on the shoulder and he starts. When he reaches one again, his phone goes off for what feels like the hundredth time. He can hear Jace shuffling around the bar. He counts to twenty a few more times before muffled words leave him.

“I can’t protect her from what she’s done,” he admits, more to himself than anyone else.

It’s quiet for so long, that he thinks Jace has abandoned him too, before a low voice breaks the silence.

“Maybe you don’t have to protect her, man. Maybe you just gotta hold her and let her know you have her back.” 

Victor counts to twenty again, head still on the counter, and wishes for a moment to be Jasper. Jasper didn’t care about them, really. He cared about Annabelle, but he wasn’t hearing Nelli cry in his sleep. Jasper got to move on if anything happened to them. But, Jasper can’t even be around people anymore. Jasper lost everything that had ever mattered to him. Jasper was so _alone_ all the time... 

Victor wishes to be someone else entirely. He wishes to be one of the monsters in the park. He wishes to be one of the ghosts that keep haunting them. He wishes to be human. He wishes to be Marc and Isaiah’s Dad again. He wishes fiercely for a dark moment, that he had died when he should have so that he wouldn’t have to live without his children. So that he wouldn’t have to know the fear that comes from thinking about living without her. He wishes that he won’t have to bury his daughter’s mother next to the mother of his sons. Then, with a great deal of reservation, he prays. He hasn’t been to church in a long time. The words come to him from another lifetime, stilted and hesitant, but he prays. 

Half-way through the long forgotten prayer, there is a knock on the door. It’s ignored at first, but it gets louder and more insistent with each passing moment.

Eventually, Jace answers it. “I’m sorry, we’re closed for the night, if you could just come back—” There’s more voices, and then a soft grunt, and then—

“Victor!” Annabelle calls for him and he lifts his head to find his coterie coming towards him. He doesn’t wonder how they found him. Ever since Nelli, he’s made everyone keep their location available. He wipes his tears off the counter and onto his pants leg.

Annabelle has shoved Jace out of the way and is walking towards him with a blooming smile of relief. Jace is doubled over in a way that shows Annabelle has forgotten her strength again and he nearly laughs. “Victor! Victor, we were looking for you!” She sounds relieved, and in the back of his mind he’s smiling over her concern. She wants so badly to protect them. 

“Yes, Victor. I had better things to do than look for you tonight,” comes from seemingly out of thin air. There is a deliberate pause and he can feel the appraising eyes looking him over. 

“Maybe next time you can do your drinking at home.” He can’t see Jasper, but the half-hearted snark in his voice paints a picture of his face. In the back, Jace seems startled by the voice and Victor knows that’s going to fall on him to take care of. _Just like every-fucking-thing else._

His eyes land on the one person he was trying to avoid, the one he wants so badly to see. Nelli is trying to glare at him, but she has a pinched look on her face that he recognizes as a mixture of worry and fear. She can't fool him. She can lie all she'd like, and do a damned good job, but when it comes to reading her? He's fluent. Her arms are crossed and her mouth is turned unhappily. He can see the stress coming off of her and it makes him feel impossibly worse.

“I called you,” she says sharply, eyes narrowed. 

“I know.” He replies simply.

She seems to bristle, but Victor knows her better than that. She gets right up to him, attempting to stare him down with all five feet four inches of herself. He takes her in, running his eyes over her form. He has to force himself to stop looking for the wounds. _She’s fine, she's right there. She’s better now._

He loves her. 

“I know, I-” he starts. He tries to come up with the words to tell her how awful he feels, but then she’s screaming in his head again, and he can’t. 

Victor grabs her wrist, pulls her into him. He hides his face in her shoulders and lets a few tears fall. She’s going to be mad later on, after the worry fades. She hates getting blood on her clothes. Even though this shirt is her usual black, the bloody tears are still going to stand out. She’s wearing something soft and cotton, and she smells like Arachnophoria. She tenses, confused underneath him, and then he feels her raise a hand. She rubs his back and murmurs lowly to Annabelle.

“There’s a karaoke machine. Why don’t you see if Jasper will sing with you?” 

“I won’t,” Jasper whips back immediately.

He can’t see Annabelle’s face, but it’s quiet for a too-long moment before she says,”Yeah, okay. Come on, Jasper. You don’t have to sing, but it’ll be fun! Do you think they’ll have Buffalo Springsteen?”

He can hear her walking away and distantly, he can hear Jasper’s voice rasping in disdain about her taste in music. 

“Victor?” Nelli asks quietly.

He pulls back and wipes his eyes for a moment. She’s gorgeous. She always is. 

“I’m okay,” he answers. It feels a little closer to the truth every time he says it.

They stare at each other for an endless moment. Nelli is an open book to him most days. It’s one of the things he loves about her, the way she wears her heart on her sleeve when they’re together. The way she doesn’t feel the need to hide that part of herself from him. He reads the emotions as they race across her face. Worry, fear, guilt, annoyance, concern. Something that could be mistaken for love if you’ve had too many drinks. He hasn’t. 

Annabelle and Jace start talking in the distance. He’s helping her to set-up the machine and music starts playing in the background, something distinctly Annabelle.

Nelli looks at him closely for a moment and then nods unconvinced. He stands, unsteady. She’s in his arms before he can blink. She hugs him like she’s trying to piece him back together and there’s never been anything better. She’s never been overly affectionate, so he treasures these moments. He gives himself five seconds to take in the feeling of home that comes when she’s pressed against him. He pulls back gently and taking her hand, he starts to make his way to where Annabelle is laughing. She leans into him and he wraps his arm around her shoulders. 

“It’s going to be alright. You know that, right?” She whispers to him.

He stops, then nods. 

“Yeah, I know.”

He enjoys this quiet moment with her.

“This place is a fucking dump.”

He laughs. He’s a little less drunk now.


End file.
